kainotophobia
by Coins Compressed
Summary: /Arthur thinks it's right for him to make a speech before departing into the morning skies. The reporter is quite… handsome, if Arthur was pushed to give an opinion./ Steampunk!AU. AsaKiku, oneshot, partway between crack and fluff.


**AN: **A little something inspired by Amelia Earhart's birthday, and by my recent discovery that I have a penchant for steam punk, ha-ha. x) It's titled 'hodophobia' on the lj meme. Enjoy!

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**kainotophobia**

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As far as cliff-edges go, this one is truly top-notch. Its purpose is to mark the boundary of Britannia's fair isle, and it does a damn good job of it too, stoutly holding back the waves that crash into its chalky base. The great goddess Terra was surely feeling inspired when she designed the area.

There is a humble village nearby, boasting various boat-rental outlets, as well as taverns and pubs galore. Very few bar-fights are ever started and even fewer pickpockets roam the streets; the entire district is almost idyllic, a picture-perfect haven.

As a man with a lifestyle anchored in noisy workshops, Arthur Kirkland is not accustomed to such picturesque surroundings. This is why he finds his current settings so impressive – especially now, as he stands on the cliff-top and stares down at the unrestrained waters below.

It's Autumn, and that's no coincidence. Arthur chose it precisely for its most distinctive qualities; he is fond of the sound made by fallen leaves when they crunch beneath his boots, and he is fonder still of the seasonal winds that sweep across Dover's white cliffs. A man in his line of work prefers the strong currents of equinox to the light breezes of summer, because his inventions wouldn't be very good if they didn't have an initial burst behind them to drive them into the air.

Ideal conditions are necessary, especially on a day such as today. It's a date that will be remembered for centuries, Arthur's sure of it, because it's today that he intends to officially introduce his magnificent creation to the world. What better location for him to make history in than here, on Britannia's border, next to a quaint rural community with a population of fifty?

Arthur grins, adjusting his goggles. The time, he knows, is close.

It's just a shame that not too many others have noticed his genius. A mere handful of people have gathered to see the event, currently standing further back from the cliff's edge than Arthur, but they're mostly natives and Arthur's own followers. Just one of the attendees stands out, due to his clothes and the jotter he has at the ready, because he is undoubtedly a journalist; to be perfectly honest, he is the only journalist that's bothered to show up, even though Arthur invited plenty of publications to the occasion.

Though it's hardly the press coverage Arthur was expecting, he thinks it's right for him to make a speech before departing into the morning skies. He gives his waiting invention a fond pat on its covered wing, then turns to march towards the waiting reporter.

"Hello there," Arthur calls, as he nears his human destination. "Are you from the English Chronicle?"

Startled, the journalist looks up from his notebook, halfway through scribbling something down. He is dark-eyed and darker-haired, Asiatic and extremely well-dressed, in sharp contrast to the farmer's fashions of the locals. He's also quite… handsome, if Arthur was pushed to give an opinion.

When he regains composure, he gives Arthur a simple reply of, "No."

"That's a shame," Arthur says. "I'd hoped that they, of all publications, would take an interest in my work."

"I am sorry to come as a disappointment," the reporter says. His voice is soft, and he speaks without hurry.

Arthur pulls down his goggles and lets them hang around his neck, because it would be terribly rude if he didn't look his correspondent in the eye. "I do apologise if I sounded discourteous. The English Chronicle and I have had a… tempestuous history, that's all. You're not a disappointment whatsoever; the more mortals here to observe history in the making, the better." He motions vaguely to his surroundings. "Isn't this a lovely place for it?"

"Yes," the journalist says, but he doesn't sound too sure. "I suppose so."

Undeterred, Arthur perseveres. "I assume you've already been briefed, but I'm Arthur Kirkland, the entrepreneur behind this whole affair. May I be so bold as to ask your name, sir?"

"Kiku Honda," the reporter says. "From the Aviation Gazette."

Though Kiku doesn't put out his free hand, Arthur seizes it to shake it anyway. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, and what a time to make it! I'm sure you'll walk away from here with an excellent article, sir, because what I'm about to demonstrate should be a source of inspiration indeed."

When Arthur at last lets go of Kiku's hand, the man attached to it looks startled yet again, his eyes now sparked with astonishment when previously they had been quite vacant. Arthur doesn't particularly mind, because if Kiku's surprised now, he's going to be positively flabbergasted when Arthur finally takes off.

Patiently Arthur waits for Kiku to begin interviewing, but no questions come. The seconds tick by and they're filled with silence, Arthur staring at Kiku while Kiku stares at the floor.

"Well?" Arthur asks, once his (admittedly very little) patience runs out. "Aren't you going to ask me about my contraption?"

"I am not entirely sure what your contraption _is_," Kiku admits. He speaks as though he's reciting lines, every word crisply planned and equally stressed. "I was told about you, to some extent. But I did not receive any information about your work."

"Oh?" is all Arthur can manage, taken aback. He runs a hand through his hair, in a vain effort to tame it. "Why did your Gazette send you to report on my exhibition if they weren't even aware of what my exhibition's _about_?"

Kiku pauses. He looks to his shoes, as if searching for answers, before looking up again. "They didn't send me; I decided to attend. My column is my own business."

There's a first. Arthur has never been an attraction in his own right before – his work is always the main point of interest for the huddled masses, which he's usually fine with, but for someone to turn up without knowing all the facts…

"Satisfy my curiosity," Arthur says, in more of a demand. "Why on Earth would you make such a stab in the dark? Did Mistress Fate tell you that this would be a worthwhile venture for you? If so, I must say she was correct, and you are wise for listening to her."

"I have heard of your work before," Kiku explains. When the breeze unsettles his fringe, he smoothly slopes his head to move away a wandering strand of black hair. "Your steam-powered gliders. I read about them, with interest."

Ah. Arthur should have expected something like this would happen.

It's true his venture into improving glider technology was not a fruitful one, but that was last year, and this is now. What does it matter that he nearly died when he attempted to glide from Cardiff to Edinburgh? Long-distance sailplaning was a mistake, yes, but that doesn't mean _this _is. His current work is a sure-fire winner – but hopefully this time it won't _literally_ set on fire.

He tells Kiku as much, but Kiku merely offers a momentary smile of amusement. His entire face lifts with the presence of mirth, and it rather suits him but it doesn't last long. Arthur suspects he doesn't smile often.

"If you like," Arthur says, "I can give you an exclusive look at my machine before I begin my flight. It's what I owe to a member of the press, after all…"

"Thank you," Kiku replies, almost instantly.

Good manners cost nothing but, even so, it's been difficult lately to find people with politeness engrained. Arthur appreciates Kiku's civility and gives a courteous nod in exchange. Then he puts out his arms, gesturing towards the mechanism currently set up and ready for use, positioned a few feet away from the cliff's edge. Kiku begins to make his way towards it and Arthur follows closely behind, enjoying the amplified sound of leaves crunching between two pairs of feet.

Whenever he can, he sneaks a glance at Kiku's open notebook. He wishes to see the wonderful things Kiku has undoubtedly written about him, but he sees just a cartoon drawing of a man with very large eyebrows and ridiculous pilot spectacles. In all fairness, Kiku is quite a good artist, but it's clearly not anything to do with Arthur. Perhaps Kiku wishes to start writing about Arthur's device after he's seen it in action.

"May I?" Kiku asks, once he and Arthur have gathered around the device itself. It's underneath a woollen blanket, to keep it both clean and hidden from view, but Arthur supposes now is as good a time as any to unveil it.

So he says, with a benevolent wave of his hand, "Kindly do the honours, Mr. Honda."

After giving a look of silent confirmation to his new acquaintance, Kiku seizes the blanket's corner and tugs it away. He possess a measured grace in his movements that Arthur admires, reminiscent of the refinement a mechanic needs when working on intricate projects.

And Arthur's invention was an intricate project indeed.

"Breathtaking, is it not?" Arthur asks, while Kiku stands with the coverlet still in hand, rendered speechless. "I think you'll find it's the most innovative item to be introduced to commercial aviation since the Zwingli Francium Balloon." He smirks. "The main difference is, of course, that _this _item actually works."

Kiku says nothing for a good few moments, gawking at the contraption, before he regains the power of speech. He looks at Arthur fixedly and queries, "What do you call it?"

"The Experimental Eitilt Enabler," Arthur declares. "_Eitilt_ being Irish Gaelic for _Flight_, of course – I feel the alliteration makes for an interesting title."

This time, Kiku finally abandons speech, focusing his attentions on the miniature aircraft at his feet. Arthur assumes that Kiku is purely impressed.

"I intend to make it to Calais within half an hour," Arthur goes on, pulling his gloves tighter in anticipation. "It's an unprecedented ambition, as I've never attempted such a distance before, but I strongly believe I'll be triumphant. My tests have all conclusively proven that the E.E.E is a reliable device, capable of supporting my weight and the weight of a passenger, if I so wished." Arthur takes a break from his utterance to think, then adds, "I don't suppose you'd like to-?"

"No," Kiku says, quickly. "Because, if I am correct, Mr. Kirkland, what you have made is a pair of simulated _wings_."

Offended, Arthur glances at his creation. To the untrained eye, the E.E.E might appear to resemble wings, due to the way it consists of two symmetrically shaped parts, and a harness to clasp around the user's upper body. But Kiku is completely ignoring the engine-box on the back and the vents on the panelling, which are parts possessed by no bird, or bat, or anything else.

(Granted, Arthur has taken _some_ inspiration from sky-creatures in his design, but that's purely for aesthetics.)

"I suppose you're right, in that my item attaches to a human as wings would a crow," Arthur concedes. He kneels by the object in question, lovingly stroking its framework. "But that's about where the similarity ends. It's entirely manoeuvrable via two adjustments levers set to hand-level, and it runs on burning alcohol in a self-regulated environment – I did tell you, sir, that it's a revolutionary piece of equipment! It does work best in perfect weather conditions, however, which is why I chose today for the demonstration."

Kiku doesn't move, but he says, "I see."

"Various substances can be used as fuels, so why not forms of in-flight liquor?" Arthur continues. "The idea came to me one evening when I wished to fly but found myself mildly intoxicated, through no fault of my own… Are you writing all this down?"

"Yes," Kiku says, even though he doesn't appear to be. "But perhaps, Mr. Kirkland, you should begin your demonstration. Before you lose your perfect conditions."

Arthur gets to his feet, pulling his goggles into position as he does so. "Quite, quite. I'll just inform the other spectators, and then we'll be ready to proceed."

Kiku hums in understanding before stooping over the E.E.E, taking a closer look at its engine-box. Deciding to leave the reporter to it, Arthur turns on his heel and starts venturing forth in the direction of his lingering audience, the familiar buzz of excitement already commencing its course through his veins. It's been far too long since he's put on a show like this; if only his glider critics could see him now…

Much against his will, his thoughts are interrupted. When he's no more than halfway towards the expectant crowd, there comes a peculiar hissing noise from behind him, and he halts his stride in order to look back over his shoulder.

It's something that Arthur will later regret.

He sees Kiku, continually stooped, hands now removed from the E.E.E's engine-box. He sees thin streams of mist already escaping the device's vents, and he sees the harness quiver with strain, and he sees the pseudo-wings thrumming with a strange sort of beat.

"I'm sorry!" Kiku is saying, displaying more emotion now than he has done all morn. He's flapping his hands and taking sporadic steps away from the device, his face reddening with flustered embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I think I pressed something, I'm so sorry–!"

There is no time now for a flippant attitude. Alarmed, Arthur swivels and breaks out into a run, retracing his path as quickly as he can. All the while, his beloved creation goes through the motions, the wings beginning to bear down on the operating levers, initiating flight without Arthur strapped in to guide it.

In hindsight, perhaps Arthur shouldn't have built it as well as he did. Its activation time is remarkably quick – from dormant to flying in 3.4 seconds – thanks to a continual slow burn he'd put into motion earlier, ready for the show. He dives to catch it, propel himself with all the strength he can muster, but it's already rising, brushing past his fingertips and shuddering up into the air.

He is not particularly athletic and Kiku isn't the type of person that copes well with capturing escaping aero-devices, so truth be told, it comes as no real surprise to Arthur that he doesn't reach the E.E.E in time. He tries again to seize it, grasping at its more exposed skeleton, but its sheer force threatens to haul him off the cliff-edge and he has no choice but to release it.

Thus, Arthur finds himself dragged through into grassy soil, looking quite dishevelled as he lies breathless from his efforts. His arm aches with the sensation of a limb nearly dislocated, and he can almost feel his already-tainted reputation falling in snowflake-shreds around him.

To his credit, Kiku doesn't utter a single word. Arthur appreciates the silence because he doesn't trust himself not to swell with rage, should Kiku try saying anything. He heaves a shivery sigh; though he's not too happy about being face-down in dirt, he doesn't want to stand up and face the crowd behind him. They are all no doubt on the brink of laughter, staring delightedly as the E.E.E buzzes off into the clear Autumn sky.

But no laughter comes, and Arthur wonders if it's safe to rise. He has nothing to lose; what's done is done, and the E.E.E reminds him of that, its inherent hissing echoing against the cliffs as it travels.

Arthur moves uncertainly, avoiding any sudden movements. They might prompt that dreaded cackling, which is the last thing he wants to hear presently. He uses his sore hands to push himself to his feet, wobbly on the spot, and when he tilts back his head, he's met with the sight of his E.E.E, fading into the distance on-course towards Dover.

On course without _him_, most importantly. Perhaps it isn't just humans that suffer from severe rudeness.

Only when he can no longer properly make out his treasured contraption does he turn, shifting to face the suspiciously hushed viewers scattered over the cliff-top. To Arthur's surprise, they have their eyes set to the E.E.E, ignoring Arthur entirely, enthralled by its steady dart and level speed.

Then a miracle happens.

They begin to applaud.

They clap and cheer as though everything went to plan, as though they truly witnessed something fantastic. Their hands come together whilst their voices collide, making remarks about the device but none about Arthur. They truly seem to think that nothing's wrong, and it strikes Arthur that perhaps they do – he never specified that he would be driving the E.E.E, and it's surely a sign of good craftsmanship if something can work unsupervised.

Arthur allows himself to relax, surveying the crowd with mild confusion. Someone tugs the sleeve of his aviator's jacket and he looks around to face them, – Kiku, wearing strictly negative emotion across his features – leaving the addressees to entertain themselves by chattering amongst one another.

"I'm sorry," Kiku says, as he did before, unable to look Arthur in the eye. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I…"

"It's quite alright," Arthur interjects. Partly to save Kiku the embarrassment, and partly to regain the conversation. "You needn't fret; I kept the blueprints. I'll merely construct another one. _Several_ others."

"Are you sure?" Kiku asks, daring to gaze up. "I… I didn't mean to cause you any trouble, Mr. Kirkland; I…"

"Everything's absolutely fine," Arthur insists. "As far as these specimens are concerned–" he thumbs towards the crowd "– everything went according to plan." He adopts a scowl. "I don't think they even noticed my involvement, the bastards."

Kiku's apologetic resolve falters, and then breaks, replaced by another momentary smile. Arthur thinks it's a _pretty_ sight, almost as pretty as the E.E.E mastering the heavens, and he commits it to memory before Kiku can hide it away again.

"I wish there was something I could do," Kiku says, gently. He finally lets go of Arthur's sleeve, even though Arthur hadn't even realised Kiku was still holding on to it.

"There are some good taverns in the village," Arthur blurts, before he can help it. He internally scolds himself immediately after speaking, but it's not quite enough to eliminate the discomfiture.

Kiku gives Arthur a long stare, making him feel even more foolish. "Pardon me…?"

"Taverns," Arthur repeats. He still finds himself with nothing to lose, after all. "I'm parched, and though I was planning on drinking in Calais, I suppose I'll have to settle for quenching my thirst here. British ale is superior to French standard anyway, so you might wish to join me." He grins. "We can arrange what you're going to put in your article about me. I expect it will be favourable?"

"Of course," Kiku promises, tapping his notebook. "And I would be honoured to join you in the village." He glances back at the E.E.E, now a spot on the horizon. "You do seem to know the best uses for alcohol, Mr. Kirkland."

"I know the best uses for everything," Arthur scoffs, setting off across the lawn.

Kiku follows without hesitation, and Arthur thinks that there's something to be said for winging it occasionally.

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**end.**


End file.
